Cancelled

Last night I was in my kitchen, helping out with setting up dinner, when I received an email from our Superintendent, informing us that new regulations had come to light with the school closures, and while Governor Cuomo (who everyone seems to be crushing hard on lately) lifted the 180 day requirement that schools need to meet in order to receive their state funding for education, he updated that stipulation to say that's true ONLY IF YOU ARE MAINTAINING CONTINUITY OF LEARNING, ACTIVITIES, FOOD, AND CHILDCARE FOR EVERY WEEKDAY THROUGH APRIL 15th, which is the current date schools are closed until.

Spring break was supposed to be next week, and now it is cancelled.

Next week will be like any other week (which is definitely NOT like any other week before 3/16), with us still trying to figure out how to deliver instruction remotely when our district wasn't set up for that before this, and when we haven't been reliably receiving work from around 50% of the student population. Of my 9 students I service in my special education program that is half self-contained and half integrated co-taught, I have received work that I can provide feedback on from TWO students so far. In my Social Studies class of 9, I have received work and feedback from 3 students. But every day I am trying to connect with students and families and provide learning opportunities and feedback when I can, and connecting with colleagues to try to figure out just how we execute this unprecedented plan to teach remotely for the first time under crisis.

So the idea of a break was super appealing, to have space to NOT be logged in all the time, to NOT feel uncertainty and guilt about what I am or am not doing and who I am and am not reaching despite my best efforts. To, even though I am not leaving the house except for walks in my somewhat rural neighborhood and the occasional take out pickup where they place it in the trunk and we wipe everything down with Clorox wipes before we even bring it upstairs, PRETEND THAT I AM ON A STAYCATION and this isn't a terrible global pandemic we're living through.

I understand the need for continuous delivery of food. I understand the need for childcare. I can't help but think that the students (and their families) could use a break from instruction, too...a little normalcy in the face of everything changing so rapidly and the world being so scary.

I guess it's that loss of normalcy in the Break Is Cancelled email that prompted me to burst into tears and then have a good ugly cry for about a half hour.

You're going to be shocked by this, but I am having a hard time with balance and this new reality. I worked a lot when school was in session (I stayed late, did stuff at home, worked many weekend hours, needed my TA to remind me to go pee), but now it looks so differently and there's this weird blur in the day. I'm logged in to my school account and get emails on my phone and my iPad and my laptop all day (and I feel like I need to have one of those on me at all times), and I have a hard time saying "okay, it's after 3, I will wait to respond until tomorrow."

Part of that is because I know there are a lot of people who are balancing doing this teaching thing AND parenting/teaching their own small children, and while I am grateful that I do not have to do that, I also have tremendous, super-un-productive guilt over NOT having that piece in my day, and that it somehow means that I need to do MORE because I don't have that added responsibility. And I take on the responsibility of trying to make sure everyone is doing what they should and has what they need and it's just too much. Logically I know that this is pretty much all outside of my control, and there is nothing I can do but practice that whole acceptance thing.

It turns out I suck at that.

I have guilt that maybe I'm not doing enough. I have guilt that maybe I'm doing too much and stressing out my students and families. I have guilt that I have more freedoms than others (which is real dumb because I doubt that they have guilt for having what I wanted so badly but couldn't have). I have guilt that I have food and housing security. I have guilt that I have a steady paycheck coming (which helps to feed the guilt about not doing enough, even though I know that's not true, logically). I have guilt that we can afford to do Instacart and not step foot in a grocery store. I have guilt that I can reduce my risk substantially because I can pay for services that put others at risk. I have guilt that I have all these beautiful books to read but I feel too guilty to sit and read them. I have guilt that I feel so sad about the cancellation of break when there are healthcare workers who are working way more than normal and putting their lives at risk, and kids who desperately need the structure and routine of school but who can't access that right now. I have guilt that I am so sad about not having a break that doesn't even work like a "real" break anyway.

It's so heavy. And I know it is an unnecessary load, one that I've piled on my back for no good reason, but that's just how my brain works. And the break thing really screwed with my head. Because as it is, we are working off of 2 week increments -- we are closed until April 15th, and yet we know that if the apex of this in NY is likely 2-3 weeks out, WE WILL BE CLOSED FAR LONGER THAN THAT. But it's coming out in these little onesie twosie two week increments, which makes it harder to plan and feel like there is any certainty.

Because of course, there IS NO CERTAINTY.

Certainty is an illusion.

Which you'd think I would have learned through all the years of infertility treatments and IVF and adoption that did not result in the child we wanted. And so much of it came in 2 week increments. And so much of it was made up of plans that were cancelled. Of feeling wildly out of control but still wanting to grasp at some way to corral it into something manageable, through obsessive data charting and thought spirals and projecting when things might work out and what next year might look like IF things were successful.

It feels so terribly familiar.

And the cancelled break felt like all the other cancellations that went with my life before, and took this opportunity for self care and threw it away.

I suppose the upside to this is that I will just have to figure out my own regimen for self care and how to manage all this better than I am now (which falls under NOT AT ALL). I will have to plot out my day and make parameters for myself so I don't lose my fucking mind. Unless it's too late, ha HA ha ha. I will have to practice the whole letting go and acceptance that I did with something way more momentous, but figure out how to do it with something that has no foreseeable end and could possibly kill people I love.

This sucks.

Someone sent me this today, and I really need to remind myself those last two lines aren't just for students... they are for me, too.

So just do your very best.
And do not worry about the rest. 

Solid advice I need to take.

#Microblog Mondays: Perspective

Just a few months ago, I had the highly unpleasant experience of getting out of the shower, starting to towel off, and having a giant (okay, fine, nickel-sized) black spider come OUT OF THE TOWEL and skitter down my arm into the shower floor, where it refused to go down the drain. I screamed, I did the flailing Spider Dance, and absolutely none of it woke Bryce up. I am STILL shaking out my towels months later because it was so scary.

In the grand scheme of things though, it's not the worst thing that could happen. The world is a lot scarier than that spider in my shower, and it happened so incredibly fast. Three weeks ago was the start of a week where we were nervous in my community, but we had no confirmed cases and we had no idea that Friday of that week would be our last day of school for who knows how long. It looks so different now, and I have no idea when it will look like something else.

But, as scary as it is, I am among the fortunate. I have a job that I'm flailing through doing remotely but where I am still earning a paycheck (as does Bryce), enough food and the ability to order groceries for delivery (assuming that continues), lots of books, internet and streaming services, and a house I don't mind at all being stuck inside. Unlike the many memes out there, I would not choose option B and be quarantined away from Bryce, he's a great person to be cooped up with. Our life in that regard doesn't actually look that different, because we're homebodies anyway. It's just weird that we don't have another choice.

Over the weekend I had a raging migraine, that at first didn't present like a migraine -- more like a tension headache, and I kept checking to make sure that I didn't have a fever (with the very scientific back-of-the-hand technique, as we need to replace the batteries in our actual thermometer). I had this feeling of dread that maybe somehow despite the careful isolation and precautions taken with EVERYTHING that comes into the house, I caught the virus. I was beyond relieved when on Sunday the headache made it clear through mimicking an ice pick in my temple that it was a migraine, it was caused by the insane change in temperature and winds, and I could take my migraine meds and feel better (which finally, I do). Now that we are in a pandemic, every headache, every cough, every moment of seemingly undeserved fatigue is examined to make sure that it's not symptoms of Covid 19. It's real weird, and way scarier than that spider. At least the spider likely didn't have the capability to kill anyone in my house.

The last thing bouncing around my head at this point in time is this quote I keep seeing in my Facebook feed (yeah, I totally deleted my timer, I'll put it back on when that's not one of very few means of connecting with people):

I don't know if "normal" will ever exist the way it did before this, but it's an interesting thought experiment to think about the kinds of things we squished into our days Before that pushed out activities and time that is so nourishing now. (I also realize that I wonder this is from a place of privilege because there are certainly people who are more squished now in every possible way, either due to lost jobs, working in healthcare and risking lives for others, worried about food and housing security...)

Anyway, food for thought.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy! 

#Microblog Mondays: Staying Sane in a Pandemic

That title is just WRONG, we shouldn't be writing anything serious that has the word "pandemic" in it...but here we are.

I'm feeling much better this week, maybe because I have a bit of a routine down, maybe because I made it through the first week of a strange new reality and survived it.

I am still not sleeping super awesomely, but now I combat that by keeping my Kindle by my bed so that if I wake up at 5 am (and I do NOT get UP at 5 am, ever) I can pull the covers over my head and read until I fall asleep again. So glad Bryce sprung for a new Paperwhite for me a few months ago, my old Kindle didn't have a backlit screen. I'm currently reading Wool, the first in the Silo trilogy by Hugh Howey, which is post-apocalyptic but has nothing to do with viruses.

We are getting outside and/or getting exercise in the house every single day -- today the walk was replaced with a rousing game of ping pong (I have never been so grateful for that first-Christmas-in-the-house ping pong table present!). I'm also doing Pilates 3-4 times per week through zoom, which is nourishing physically and mentally.

I've heard from more students at this point and called most of my parents/students today, which really made me feel a LOT better. Not better about one I haven't heard from at all and can't reach through either parent, but the rest I at least know are alive and doing okay. I have video chat with one, chat with another, and had a full on phone conversation with a third. It's weird because that would probably not be super appropriate in other times, but in this end of times, it seems to offer a comfort. For both sides.

I'm also limiting my news exposure. I'm doing better now that I'm not obsessively watching the counts go up up up, minute by minute. I know they are, but I try to limit myself to a couple times per day.

Lastly, here's something you can do to feel useful in this crazy time. If you have the means, donate money to your local food pantry. We have one for the town where I teach, and one that services all of upstate New York (Foodlink). They can find food and provide it to people, including families impacted by school closures. It doesn't take much ($1 provides 3 meals for Foodlink) and it has an immediate impact, which can make a body feel less like everything is spiraling horribly with no sense of control at all.

I hope you are well, I hope you are healthy, I hope that you are making your way through this pivotal point in history with your sanity intact.

Counting this as my antiseptic mouthwash prevention effort... :)

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Coping With Anxiety In A Pandemic

Pandemics are, by their very nature, anxiety-causing. I don't think there's anyone who is like, "Oh, can't wait for that super-relaxing pandemic to start! Going to be so much fun!"

But as someone who struggles with anxiety, this coronavirus situation is throwing me a big infectious curveball.

I wrote on Monday about finding the positives. And I am still trying to do that, but when the news gets worse and worse and the uncertainty of just how long we will be home and what's happening to my students... it's hard.

The physicality of my anxiety is definitely ramped up. I am experiencing that fight-or-flight response daily, and am SO SO SO glad that when I had the flu my NP gave me a refill prescription on my lorazepam. Because I've needed it. My heart starts racing around 3:00 every day...I can't really figure out why. It's not like I go on a news binge at that time every day, but by dinnertime I am a wreck.

Logically, I know that I am as fine as I could be. I am isolated, I am washing my hands every time I bring the mail or packages in, I am putting cardboard right into the recycling bin and washing my hands after handling, we are sanitizing doorknobs and surfaces all the time. And my phone. My phone is getting an alcohol wipe sponge bath at least once per day. We have food. I have 60 days of all my meds (except lorazepam, but I'm hoping if I need to I can get that too, or maybe I can figure out a way to manage this panic response sans medication before I run out of that stuff). Both Bryce and I are working at home. I have tons of books and stuff to do, and I've been posting up things to my Google Classroom like mad (probably more than I should at this point, I don't want to overwhelm people). So far I'm not seeing a whole lot of activity on my Google Classroom, despite an hour long conversation with a parent and several emails. I did get three journal entries from one student, which was amazing, and a message from her that said "I miss you a lot!" which warmed my heart. I miss them too. And I'm worried, especially about those I've yet to hear from.

BUT. Bryce found out today that someone in his building had symptoms, checked in with a health professional and is now home waiting for results. This person works in a department that he visits regularly. So that starts that 14 day clock again from the last time he was in the office. And then there's the time he went to the grocery store to pick up my prescription that was only a partial earlier, and got more supplies, and was around A LOT of people. That was Sunday 3/15. So 14 days from that is 3/29.

That's the other thing, this time warp aspect. We feel like until we've been home for 14 days and neither of us is sick, we are living in a constant state of shoe-over-the-head, waiting to drop. Because last Wednesday, 3/11, we had one confirmed case that was travel related, and then Saturday was the press conference announcing the new case with community transmission who was a school employee, and now, today, as of this morning, we have 34 confirmed cases, one death, 11 people in the hospital, and 195 people in mandatory quarantine. Half of our cases are under 60. BUT WHY SHOULD I BE SCARED??? It's freaking nervewracking.

Then again, it's exactly what we expected, given the nature of the virus. It spreads when people feel perfectly fine, and is like a time machine of contagion. But it doesn't make it any less scary.

Sooo... my coping mechanisms. For all my books, my brain is all lizardy and unable to focus on relaxing things AT ALL. I'm having a hard time keeping my attention on any one thing. I feel panicky and jittery. I did do two mini puzzles though. And I am recording audio for a book we're reading in my English Google Classroom, because Bryce set me up with my own mini recording studio so my kids can hear me reading it. Which is all kinds of awesome. I'm walking outside and doing online Pilates classes and taking naps.

Just a mini recording studio in with my cardstock, washi tape, and modpodge... :)

But it's overwhelming. Just the state of the world is overwhelming. The fact that it feels like End of Days is overwhelming. I keep having dreams about people coming to the door dressed in weird ferret mascot costumes looking to rob us of our supplies, or all of our oranges going blue and moldy at once. Both are scary. One is slightly more realistic than the other.

I'm following Infertile Phoenix's advice  and showering every day and even putting real clothes on. I may have bought some things online to cheer me up, too. Like these Danforth Pewter four-leaf clover earrings and mini necklace that were on sale, because who couldn't use a little extra luck right now?

I guess I'll save money on makeup during this time? Also, I WISH SO HARD that I'd changed my hair appointment to two weeks earlier. I'll be back to my very silvery natural roots in no time! 

That's another funny thing to think about...when this is over we'll know just how much of everyone's physical appearance is artificial! The hair, the fillers, the waxing... I'm working on a solid goatee at the moment. (Tweezers can fix that though, so I really have no excuse other than laziness.)

I'm supremely grateful to be able to go outside. I feel for my city-dwelling friends who are stuck inside and/or have to be super careful when going out for a walk. I've seen more deer than people when out and about, and the natural outdoors is healing. That whole forest bathing thing? TRUE.

My neighbor's snowdrops. So pretty and hopeful. 

So pretty! Around the "block" from my house

Hard to see, but there are little white blooms on that tree in the middle/left front. HOPE!

Pretty budded twig on the road. 

The dandelions are pushing out! I always love them in the early spring. 

The other thing that's good to look forward to is my garden. I am on Bulb Watch -- I planted a shit-ton of daffodils and anemones, and totally forgot that I planted some crocuses too!

So cute and tiny and vibrant!

Daffodils that came with the house starting to poke up out of the lawn. 

Lastly, we have a neighbor with a flock of guinea fowl who come traipsing through our yard most days. They make me laugh and add a bright spot to the day. 

Whatchoo looking at?

Running through the wild raspberries that are the untamed side of the front yard...

TEE HEE HEE, they are so funny!

These are the little things that are keeping me together. These are the things that keep me off the ledge of my anxiety. I am hoping that it gets better as this becomes the new normal. I am hoping to find a way to balance and take care of myself during this bizarre time.

I hope you can find the same, and that my little treasures that get me through the day help bring some brightness to yours, too. 

Positives in a Scary New Reality

It is insanely weird to me to think that just a week ago my largest stressor was preparing for my IEP meetings (4 of which are done, 5 of which are postponed until...?), and now I am taking inventory on food supplies and carefully list-keeping expiration dates on meats to see what needs to be frozen, and also peeling baby potatoes that went a bit green that ordinarily I'd have chucked, but now I'm like, WHAT IF THERE ARE NO MORE POTATOES? SAVE THE POTATOES!

My depression-era Grandma would have been proud if she'd lived to see this new reality. 

I am officially home; there is no school for students for the foreseeable future. I uploaded all my extension materials to my Google Classroom and printed all the packets (which my TA compiled to mail out, since I did not feel comfortable going in for the few hours today to print/copy/whatever, but I did print everything to my classroom printer so she didn't have to go to the copy room, which may have been a bit like the Cornucopia in the Hunger Games, I imagine).

See, I have asthma that triggers hard whenever I have any respiratory infection, and we now have local transmission in our community, and so I AM NEVER LEAVING THE HOUSE TO GO IN PUBLIC AGAIN. A walk, yes. Anywhere there are peoples? NO. Not gonna lie, so happy that we live in a less-populated area and I have this privilege of going outside and not worrying about social distancing. Also, Bryce is now working from home, so we don't have to worry about his exposure from this point forward, either. We are officially hermits, now that our county is officially in an outbreak.

We started with one case on Wednesday, which was travel related. Then Friday night we had a confirmed second case that was unrelated to travel and a local public school employee. She became symptomatic around 3/4 AND... now we have 11 cases. That we know about. Because it's a time machine, and what we have now is what happened 1-2 weeks ago. It's probably going to do the whole exponential thing it's doing everywhere, but the fact that it was a school employee freaks everyone out because our schools and sports and music communities are so interconnected, and we have teachers in our district who are parents in that district, and it's just a web of contagion.

Everything is closing -- schools, libraries, gyms, restaurants/bars (except for takeout), rec centers...it seems like the list just keeps going. Now we can't be anywhere with more than 10 people. A few days ago it was 50. (Of course now it matters not as I won't be anywhere with more than 2 + a cat.)

But I am not freaking out. No no no. Breathe deep. Think of some positives.

POSITIVES:
- Our school district rallied and did a food drive that will provide boxes and totes of food to our families who may not otherwise have those stores of nonperishable foods, and received $5000 in donations to buy food supplies for families, and the Food Service department packed 1000 bag lunches/breakfasts for delivery. Before Friday I had the chance to bring two full bags of groceries to the drop off, so I feel like I got to be a part of that effort too. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy (and relieved that hopefully none of our kids go hungry during this time).

- I have an insane amount of books to keep me company during this time. Like, for some reason, I did a whole crazy book hoarding thing for two months between the indie stores in Vermont and our local indie store in Palmyra, NY, and I could probably be fine THROUGH THE SUMMER.

- My Pilates studio closed temporarily, but they are doing virtual classes and so I can continue working my flexibility and balance and strength and support their local business. Between that, the walking, and limited food choices moving forward, maybe I will get in the best shape of my life!

- I have a zillion puzzles, some I haven't even done yet ever, and so that will take up some time. I'm obsessive and have a hard time stopping once I start, but now all I have is time, so have at it!

- This is a time for creativity-- writing, cardmaking, all kinds of stuff. I have a paint-by-number canvas thing that Bryce bought me during the hysterectomy stay-home-time, and I never did it, so now's the time, cheerful pink zinnia painting! (That goodness it's by number, because I suck at drawing/painting from scratch). Also, plenty of time for blogging!

- I feel like even though the news is all End of Times feeling, there's also stories of people coming together. Mr. Rogers' helpers are everywhere. It helps me feel less scared.


I hope you and yours are safe, and I hope you have what you need to hole up and ride out this crazy situation. It's so weird to say "pandemic" and not be making some weird stupid joke or talking about a YA novel. SO much thanks and love to the medical professionals who have to go out there and do their work on the ground level of this thing, risking their own health to take care of others. I appreciate you.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Alternate Worlds

I read a few posts recently about looking back, and imagining what would have happened if things turned out differently with regards to family building. One was someone looking back at the moment when they were pregnant with their first child and suffering a subchorionic hematoma, wondering if this would actually be that moment where a child was a result (it was). One was someone looking at decisions made by younger family members, who had a baby first and then started looking for a house and that's proving difficult, and wondering if that order had reversed if things would have been different.

It is SO HARD not to do that. Not to look back and wonder how things might have been different if other decisions, other events, other timelines had occurred.

For me, maybe I would have had a baby if I'd tried in my first marriage, when I was younger, but I would far rather have the life I lead now than have had a baby in that situation. So that one doesn't make me sad.

There's no way Bryce and I could have started trying earlier, and we did do testing and get referrals before we were even married (I signed for my first Ovidrel shot delivery in my wedding dress), so that isn't a regret.

Had my first pregnancy that ended as an ectopic survived, I would have an 8 year old, but ectopics can't be saved, no matter what some idiotic, ignorant senators might say.

That second pregnancy though, that one is a doozy. I mourn that one hard.

I had just had a friend with a subchorionic hematoma, and so when I first started bleeding, I was assured that it was probably okay, that this happened sometimes. I was relieved somewhat by the first ultrasound within an hour of the bleed, which showed a sac. All of the hopeful thoughts I'd had about FINALLY having made it to pregnancy, of giving myself permission to dream about what that would look like and how our future would unfold, I could still hang on to them, albeit with a shadow of dread creeping in around the edges.

Now it seems cruel that I was on bed rest for a couple days until blood test results came back and a fancier ultrasound was performed. I think deep down I knew that I wasn't going to be one of the lucky ones. I think I knew when I first felt cramping in the parking lot of my grandmother's assisted living apartment building, and hoped against hope that it was something normal. I knew when I saw the blood. I just hoped and hoped and hoped and hoped that it was the scary but somewhat routine event that had plagued my friends, a bleed that didn't impact the baby, that wouldn't set my dreams on fire. EVERYONE had a story about something that went wrong but still ended well, even when I had the ectopic but didn't know that yet -- there were stories about low numbers and crappy rises that ended in perfectly healthy children, see? It can happen!

It didn't make me feel better. Because it didn't happen for me, not the first nor the second time I experienced pregnancy loss. It made me feel even more like a freak, like a failure, like something was terribly wrong with me. That luck was just not on my side. That all my magical thinking and desperate bargaining was wasted because something, somewhere, did not want me to have a baby.

That second pregnancy had the unfortunate parallel window into an alternate world, when a fertility yoga friend also became pregnant the day before me, and then her pregnancy continued while mine was cut short with an HCG drop in the thousands and a fancy ultrasound that revealed a sac, but also detritus and a smaller-than-normal development that indicated that there was nothing that would have made a difference -- I was bound to miscarry no matter what. I watched her belly grow while mine grew ever squishier due to hormone fallout and grief eating. I saw her post about the birth of her baby girl in April, right at the same time my baby would have been born in other timelines, other worlds. And then eventually I hid her on social media because watching her little girl grow was just too painful, it was way too easy to imagine what life would have looked like had my baby survived.

I think that's why it was so hard when the family with two boys moved in to our old house, and the house got the family we tried to make happen, but only after we'd left. Seeing toys in the yard and hearing neighbors talk about the life in the house because of those two young people gives me another window into what could have been.

Adoption was interesting, because it was so taxing but I didn't always give myself the ability to imagine what life would be like if we were chosen. For being such an emotionally difficult process, it was strangely impersonal as, at least for us, we didn't ever see an expectant mother or get updates on a pregnancy, we were never matched, and almost all of our opportunities were last-minute, so there was no specific-baby anticipation of arrival. But occasionally there was imagining of the baby that could be, and as time went on, it felt so demoralizing to not be picked, to have everything in our nursery ready for this baby we wanted so badly, and come close but not nearly close enough every single time. That opportunity near the end where it was possible we'd have to drive to Buffalo the next day if we were the lucky couple chosen was the hardest, because it was such an imminent thing. It's hard to harden yourself against that and not imagine what a tomorrow where you're a parent would look like. That was probably the most devastating "Sorry, you were not chosen this time" moment. We could see into that alternate world and imagine what excitement and nervousness we would feel in the car ride to the hospital. But it stayed just a crushing thought experiment.

Now though, living in our new house, free of anything other than a small box of mementos from that time and a stack of books that I keep behind a bookshelf, it's way harder to imagine what life would be like with any of the children that could-have-been but weren't.

We wouldn't live here if we'd been successful. We might not live in our old house anymore, but we definitely wouldn't be in this palace of books and windows and unlimited gardening possibilities. I really try not to think about alternate worlds too much now, because it is over. That is the gift of resolution -- there is no way to change this outcome, we are in a different place, and so there's not a lot of sense in mulling over this other life that didn't happen.

Some things trigger those moments -- pregnancy announcements, seeing a child that looks like what we envisioned ours to be, spending time with friends' children and feeling like it's a shame we didn't get the chance because I so love kids and enjoy being silly and goofy and snuggly. But then I go home, and I can be grateful for my office, for my space and my time, and the ability to recharge after giving so much of myself to my students because there are no small people who need me.

I loved Mali's post on forgiving yourself, because so often these moments of looking back and thinking about what life would have looked like is a sort of self-punishing exercise. There are so many good reminders in this post about what and who you can forgive to continue moving forward in your resolution (because it is NOT a static thing). I struggle with the body piece, because I absolutely blamed my body and was oddly vindictive and pleased when I had to have my hysterectomy. It felt like a sort of vengeance. But now that that's gone, I can forgive the rest of me. All the other forgives I can do -- we made the best decisions with the knowledge I had at the time, and we decided to stop probably well after we could have, but it was when it was clear there was no way we could keep going. It cost too much, in ways that had nothing (okay, maybe a little) to do with money.

I will try to visit these alternate worlds without blaming myself for the fact that they did not come to pass. I won't linger there, because it's too easy to get stuck in brain space that isn't real, and spend too much time visiting what could have been where I can put that energy into what is yet to be. It's all part of that healing, of accepting and honoring what happened before, of working through the trauma and grief of it, and figuring out how to make the best way forward.

Shopping for the Apocalypse

Ah, coro.navi.rus. It's here, and whether or not we're actually living at the beginning of the Georgian Bird Flu epidemic in Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel (which I kind of want to reread but also feel it might freak me out), it's necessary to grocery shop. It just looks a little different when you're stocking a two-week pantry after various people who are pretty reasoned don't laugh when you tell them about "survival shopping." 

I had a big cart, which I usually don't enjoy (we have these two-tier short carts that are great and not unwieldy at all), but I needed to get a boatload of gluten free mac and cheese (the kind that doesn't need milk or butter), and canned gf soups, and tuna, and peanut butter, and at least 30 rolls of toilet paper. I have an irrational fear of running out of toilet paper in an emergency, that started when a coworker's sister was stuck in the freak 7-foot snowfall in Buffalo a few years ago and toilet paper was like GOLD. I try to always have extra on hand, but I wanted a super stash. 

Just in case. 

All these things are stuff we'd use anyway; it just feels weird to every day wonder where the next case will crop up and how quickly it will spread and cause some level of chaos. It's the chaos that scares me more than the virus, even though I have asthma and respiratory illnesses are the devil for me (but otherwise I'm youngish and healthyish). 

When I first read Station Eleven, it brought up moments of "ohhhhh, I will totally not survive an event like this." Mostly because people ran out of medication, and if I run out of asthma medication I am no longer controlled, and there's a scene where nothing good happens to someone who's been out of their antidepressants, and although I might run out blood pressure medicine I'd probably not be feasting during a dystopian future, so maybe that would sort itself out. 

It's weird feeling a bit like every day seems a little more like living in one of the novels I enjoy so much. Will the economy collapse? Will there be marauders? Do I need to come up with an edgy post-apocalyptic name and shave half my head so I'm not a target? 

I would like to point out that I am not actually panicking, just exploring all possible options in my weird brain. And hoping that the next time I go to the grocery store I don't feel embarrassed by my cart and like I have to mutter about my 5 kids to cover up for the kinda-sorta-minor-prepping that I'm engaging in (which I'm sure didn't occur to anyone else, even though I was totally checking out other carts to see if I wasn't the only one following the zillions of "what to buy for a pandemic" lists out there). 

Interesting times. 

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